Robin Hood Reimagined
by Gawth
Summary: What if Robert of Locksley died before he ever gone on the crusades? This is the story about his sister, Marian, taking his place in history, hiding behind the name Robin Hood, rob from the rich to give to the poor, whilst running from the sheriff and Gisborne.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

A/N:

I have taken certain liberties with this story, as to making in my own.

I do hope it will be enjoyable no matter

Prologue.

These tales are suppose to be about a good hero, saving maidens and defying men who trample upon justice.

This might be one of those, or not. That's up to you to decide.

My story starts with my brother. His name was Robert of Locksley. I say was, because he's dead.

We had just received word from King Richard that Robert was to be joining him in the crusades. I remember the horrible day, I was crying in the gardens. My father, a strict man with an unhealthy love for the king, had told Robert that he must go, otherwise he would be disowned. My brother and I had always been close, as my mother died giving birth to me and father never bothering with his only daughter. 'Sons are God's gift to fathers' He always said.

My brother found me in the woods behind our house. Even with tears streaming down my cheek, i still held my bow high and firm, shooting my anger at a tree, pretending it was my father in its place. Every time I hit that little knot, just where the heart could have been, would the tree been human, I smiled just a bit, before stringing another arrow on.

'Father should be worried, least you try to actually shoot him' I heard Robert say behind me. 'You're even better than me now, and that's saying something.'

Turning around, I could see him in the morning sun. His chestnut hair was just a slight darker shade than mine and he was a bit taller than me. Other than that, we were practically identical. We had the same pale green eyes and the same smile.

'I wish I could.' I retorted. 'Then we wouldn't have this damn problem. He's a fool, not worthy of the title he bares.' I spat on the ground, talking about father felt sour in my mouth.

'Watch your tongue, my dear sister, mother might scold you when we see her next.' He warned me. A warning that no longer did anything. He had used it ever since we were little, him just three years older than me, telling me off lovingly every time I disobeyed father. Though he was always there for me when I needed him, except now. Now he was going far away from me, leaving me alone with my father.

'I need you here, more than the King does.' I growled at him, my temper rising. 'Does it really matter if you're there or not. Plenty of valiant nobles go for his cause, why should you make a difference?'

He laughed at this, his arms coming around me, embracing me, bow and all, my quiver shoving painfully up into the space between my shoulders. 'My sweet sister, my sweet baby sister.' I could hear him saying, his face buried in my hair. 'You know full well why I need to go. Father demands it and so does our King. Though I would gladly scorn my father, one cannot disobey an order from Lionheart.'

I sighed and stepped away from his warmth, leaving his embrace and turning, face towards him. 'I understand, I truly do. However, I do not wish for it.' He nodded his head, silently agreeing to my words. 'Come, Marian. Let us go back to the house, father will miss us soon. He had another letter just a while ago, and wishes to see us both.' He led me back towards the house. 'What? Maybe King Richard changed his mind? Heard about your ways with the women down in the village and never wants a lug like you in his army?' I joked, trying to keep my mood up, now when father was to be seen, being angry was never a good thing.

'Oh hush, you…' Robert said in a low murmur. 'You know I would never…'

'No, no, no!' I screamed 'Father, you can't mean this, surely?' My father had given me the letter brother talked about. This one, however, was not concerning my brother, but me.

'I do, and as my daughter, you will be wise to obey me.' My father's voice said from the big oak chair by the fireplace. 'You are old enough to be married and I will not wait more than necessary to get rid of you.' He took another sip from the goblet in his hand and stood up, still facing the fire. I looked at Robert, still standing by the door, pleading for him to help me.

'This marriage will give more than enough for me to finally fill the void you caused me when you took my wife from me.' I could hear the anger in his voice, even though it was calm and low. Father had never forgiven me for what happened to my mother. Had I been a boy, then maybe, but I was born a girl, and he never let me forget it.

'Father, whoever this man is, surely he can't give you anything to fill mother's place?' I asked, hoping this was the right thing to say. He laughed at this, a cold laugh that chilled me straight through. 'Oh, he has enough gold, don't you worry. I will manage without you, oh yes I will…'

At this, my brother finally broke free from the door, as if he had been chained there until now. He walked towards father and I followed. 'Surely this marriage can wait until I come back?' He said, now standing just a few feet away from the chair, and my father. 'You sister will marry, before you come home, or God so help me, I will make her away however I can.' He was swaying slightly back and forth, a drink too many in the early day, something not out of the ordinary. He was a drunk, spirits had never left his side from the moment my mother took her last breath. I had never seen him sober and I doubted I ever would. 'Robert, you are to leave this house before the sun sets today.' Father turned to my brother. 'And you,' he murmured, looking over Robert's shoulder, straight into my eyes, 'you will go to your room, and dare you leave it until your intended has come, then you will regret it, I'm sure.' His eyes gleamed, as they always did when violence were on his mind.

'No, father, I refuse. I will not go until Marion is free, free from marriage and free from you.' He put his arm out, shielding me from him.

'You dare to speak up to me, your own father and lord of this house?!' sputtered father, his face reddening. 'I have already sent Gisborne my answer and in a fortnight, he will come to collect.' I put my hand on Robert's arm, trying to lower it, as I didn't want to anger father any further. In the woods, I was brave, but in the house, I was a girl, a sixteen year old girl. I could never disobey him here, my willpower weren't strong enough. Robert held his arm, not lowering it even though i pleaded in his ear.

'I will not stand for this. You will not…'

Time seemed to slow down, the moment my father's eyes sparkled, and I could see him raising his hand towards Robert, goblet in hand. Robert wasn't fast enough. The goblet hit him in the head, and had that been all, I'm sure we would all still be here, but no. Robert fell down, his head slamming into the stone floor with a sickening crack. In the distance I heard a scream, so high and shrill I could have swore it was a demon. It wasn't until later I realised that I had been the one screaming.

Wine mixed with my brother's blood as the goblet clattered to the floor. His eyes were opened, but there was no life in them. Seconds later, I felt a hand pulling me by my hair. Father's hand.

'See what you've done, you little wench!' He yelled in my ear. 'You have not only taken my wife, now you have also taken my son from me!' My scalp was burning from the pull and tears rolled down my cheeks. He threw me down on the floor, next to Robert's body. I lay there, silently crying and looking into his eyes, searching for life in them, but found none.

I could hear father breathing above me, still standing there. 'I'm not the one who did this.' I said in a low hiss. 'What?' He growled. I looked up at him, feeling the anger from this morning tenfold over. 'I said, I am not the one who took Robert's life from him, but you!' His cold eyes bore into me and he slowly bent down, pulling the knife from his belt. My eyes followed it as it got closer and closer to me. 'Now, what shall I do without a son? Who shall now bare my name and fight for the King?' My father had gone mad, I'm sure. The smile on his face was not of this world and neither was the tone of his voice, rumbling like thunder.

The grip on my hair got harder again and I let out a yell as he raised me up by the hair. The knife came closer to me and I closed my eyes, praying to come to the same place as Mother and Robert.

But not, I fell back towards the floor, hard, my arms hardly time to protect me from the hard surface. When I looked up, I saw father walk away from me, holding my long hair in his hand. 'I expect you gone in an hour, _Robert_. Send the King my regards.' He walked out of the room and left me there, lying next to my brother's corpse,


	2. Chapter 2: Fight, Rabbit and Ale

'You know, I'm getting really tired of your shit, John Little!' I growled, my bow clenched hard, my knuckles turning white from the lack of blood flow. John scowled at me, watching me from the ground. Sitting in a tree had its perks sometimes, like not being hit by a big lug like John.  
'Fine, have it your way then!' He called before turning away from me. 'But you should know, Rob, if we get caught and I hang because of you, I'll either haunt you or bring you down with me.'  
I could see his cloak disappearing behind a big bush and his grumbling becoming more quite the further away he got. It had been the third time this month that we got in a fight, at least this time nobody got hurt. I still had a sore spot on my head from the last time, when he threw a punch at me from  
behind. Not one of his finest moments, but truth be told, John Little was the best man in my band, and I would be a fool to lose him.  
I sighed as I climbed down the tree, not feeling up for the usual jump down. I could have done it if I wanted to, but not tonight. The sky was turning pink and a chill swept through the trees. Summer was turning into autumn and new hardships would soon be upon us. Only a few hours had passed since Will had brought bad news from the town. Sure, he had probably only gone to the local inn, The Monk's Bread, for a pint and a tumble with the girls there, but he had come back quick enough when he had heard the news.

The sheriff was raising the taxes yet again, a bad thing on its own, but he was also appointing a new assistant of sorts, a Sir Guy of Gisbourne. I had heard rumours about him, none were of the good kind.

The leaves rustled in the trees as I walked towards the camp. In the distance I could see John sitting by the fire, his back towards me. Had I still been angry, it would have been a bad move. Luckily, my thoughts weren't on him and I had the unity of the band to think of. The tunes from Allan's lute reached me as I got nearer and I wondered what I should say when I finally reached the gathering. It seemed like everyone was there, not that it was unusual, just, not what I needed at this moment. Stopping just a few trees before the fire, I leaned towards one of the massive oaks.

They did not notice me hear, the sun had gone down just enough for me to hide in the shadows. I could hear them talking in hushed voices from here. 'Thank Christ for the gift of keen ears' I thought as I listened to their chatter.

'I'm not sure, John. When has Rob been way off on a hunch?' a small, low voice said. I instantly recognised Much's voice. 'Poor young Much, why was he doing this every time?' I thought, even though I was grinning from his praise. I was weak when it came to praise, always have been.

'Shut it, Much!' John retorted in his burly voice. 'Don't go thinking he's the only one here with a brain, just because you're lacking.' The sound of laughter filled the air and I could see the small silhouette of Much becoming smaller. It wasn't fair that John were picking on him, even less fair that the other joined in laughing.

'But he's right, you know.' Tuck said, sitting by the other side of the fire. 'Robert never made a decision that turned wrong.' The others murmured in agreement to this, even John, though surly enough. 'Okay, fine!' John exclaimed, his hands up in the air. 'So he's right then, doesn't mean it will be as bad as he says.' A low murmur came from the rest. 'What's your point?' I could hear Will say, sitting beside Allan, his voice slurring a little, probably from the ale he's been drinking. One of his many flaws, the love for ale, sadly shared by most of the band. 'My point,' John said 'is that we can take the bastard. I mean, rumours are nothing but rumours, Allan should know that, least. Going about singing his damn songs whenever a lass is around.'

The lute faltered a little at this, probably because Allan took it personal. Sure, his songs weren't exactly facts, but there was some truth to them. 'This Gisbourne, I'm sure he's just a wimp, some lowborn trying to rise up in rank, God knows how! He's going to be easy to deal with, relax.'

'I heard he was catching outlaws for sport.' Will said. 'Strung them up just for fun, as soon as he got his hands on them.' His voice faltered at the end and was replaced by a hiccup. 'Maybe he's nothing, or maybe he's serious stuff. Doesn't matter, I think.' Much said, his voice higher now. 'Doesn't hurt being prepared, does it?'

At this, I couldn't hold it any longer. For one, I was starving and one of those rabbits on the fire would sit well in my stomach. Secondly, I had heard enough. I knew now that the others weren't on the same track as John, which suited me fine. I walked up to them and took a rabbit from the spit. 'Much is right. Even though you might not share my fears, it doesn't harm being a step ahead if so.' I took a seat next to Tuck and looked around the fire. Even after all this time, they still weren't used to me walking up from the shadows. 'Come on, I'm not a spirit, lighten up, will you?' I said before taking a bite. I could feel their eyes leave me as I took another bite. Tuck always did know how to roast a good rabbit, too bad he weren't with us most of the time. But who could blame him, he had his church to take care of, even if he did a poor job. Like so many others before him, the ale got the best of him and he was rarely seen sober. It was usually on Sundays, during the mass. After that, the ale was in his hand again.

As if Tuck could read my mind, he stretched out a hand towards Will and yelled 'Give Robert something to drink, huh? Must be thirsty after this long day.' Will grumbled and gave the half-empty barrel of ale an irritating look, as if it was at fault for not being full every time he needed a pint. 'Come on, hurry up!' Tuck said, his hand waving at Will. I could hear him grumble as he stretched his arm out, pint in hand, towards Tuck. I chuckled as I took to pint from Tuck. 'Thank you' I said, my throat a bit hoarse from all the yelling I had done at John. Tuck was the only one that would call me Robert, the others usually called me Rob, or Robin, depending on their mood.

I took a deep swig of ale, feeling the liquid going down my throat, soothing it as if it were honey. The Inn at Nottingham was famous for their honey-ale, it always went down with the lads. My face screwed up as if I had tasted something vile, though, because I never could get used to the taste, not matter the amounts I drank. I drank it for the effect, not the taste, the numbing effect it had on me was welcomed when times were rough.

'All this time and you still can't drink beer like a man?' John sneered at me, emptying half his pint in one swig. 'Shut your gob, big oaf.' I growled at him, feeling my anger at him rise again. He always knew what to say to push my buttons, and I hated him for it. Still, I couldn't lose him, he was needed in the band and after all, when it came to it, he was a good friend to have. Everyone had their rough moments, me no exception. 'So are you all for the plan tomorrow?' I asked in a loud voice, which wasn't needed. As soon as I spoke, everyone else got quiet. 'Yeah!' Much called out, and was instantly joined by everyone else.

I raised the pint and cleared my throat. 'May we chase this Gisbourne-fella away from Sherwood!' I said, and emptied the pint, filling my stomach with the strong ale.

'Yeah!' was heard from all around the fire and pints emptied all around. I stood up, swaying a little as blood rushed back into my legs. Strange, didn't even know I had tensed them. 'Night lads, early start tomorrow.' I said as I walked towards the darkness and my bed in Major Oak, leaving them and the warmth to yet again face my nightmares.


	3. Chapter 3: The Flashback

Blood, sand and ice-chilling screams. I haven't had a full night sleep since I left home those years ago. I prefer to sleep alone. Knowing there's people around just makes the nightmares worse, as if every sleeping person is another added scream in my dream. The memories of the war visit me every night, along with the people I hurt and killed. Faceless men, women and children that hunt me down, tearing my limbs apart whilst yelling for me to spare them. Revenge from the dead, clear-cut and raw. Which God that decided this war is certainly no god of mine, not anymore.

The stars are still glistening in the sky when I wake up. In the east I can see the faintness of pink on the horizon and I decided that the quest for sleep is over, until next night at least. A short distance away I see the sleeping bodies of my fellow members, all circled around the now put-out fire. They really should be more careful, something stupid like falling asleep in the open will get them killed one day. Going to sleep and not waking up again, another mess for me to deal with.

I carefully climbed down from the oak, not wanting to wake the others from their drunken slumber just yet. I wanted some time alone before starting the day properly. The wind was just a slight breeze, earthy to the smell and just strong enough to make the leaves rustle. The calmest hour of the day, when there was no one awake except for me and the forest. I could, even if just for a moment, forget the memories of war and be nothing but another whisper in the wind.

As the sun climbed higher and my surrounding began to stir, my thoughts of nothingness travelled to the sheriff's new assistant. I had never met him, yet my insides twisted as I tried to picture him. The man who was suppose to be my husband, but now thinks me dead.

After I had returned from war, I found my father where I left him, by the fire in his chair, a glass of wine in his hand. He greeted me without sparing me a glance. My deeds in the war had served the king well, and my father reaped the profits from it. New gold in his chamber and old wine in his cellar. I could tell he was pleased, but how much I couldn't be sure, as his mood turned as fast as the wind.

 _'Hello father.' I said, my voice trembling slightly and my heart beating hard and loud. 'Hello Robert.' He replied with a low murmur, his eyes still on the fire, raising his glass for more wine. Silently I grabbed the bottle and began to refill his glass, my movements timid and careful. Even though I had faced death and destruction in the east, it was nothing to the dread I felt for my father._

 _Why he chose to call me by my dead brother's name, I could not tell, but I didn't have the strength to argue with him._

 _'How are you, father?' was the question out of my mouth, even though I couldn't have cared less about his wellbeing._

 _He sipped the newly poured wine and gazed into the fire. I wasn't sure that he had heard me, but didn't feel the urge to repeat my question._

 _He was quiet for so long, yet I couldn't bear it to utter a word. Instead I poured myself a glass of wine and drained it in deep gulps. Anything to release me just a smidgen from this reality I was trapped in._

 _One glass turned into five, thanks to the servants who had stocked the table with several bottles from different years. I didn't care anymore, not about my father or anybody else. Why should I behave and act properly when they did not care in the least?_

 _'So, how the estate running?' I finally asked him, my words a little slurred, but still intelligent enough to be understood. Father still had the same glass of wine in his hand, probably luke-warm now, I thought gleefully, as it's not the right temperature for wine, however that mattered in this situation, I have no idea._

 _He barely stirred at my question and it took him over a minute to actually answer me._

 _'It's been poorly ever since your sister died and the marriage with Lord Gisborne fell through.' He put the glass down and stood up, careful not to look at me more than necessary. 'Tell me, dear son, why have you shown your face to me, when you know I despise the sight of you?'_

 _I took a step back at the question. No matter how much I wanted reality to disappear, I couldn't forget it. Did he honestly think I was Robert, that I, I mean, Marion, were dead?_

 _'You must be mistaken, father.' I told him, my mind sobering by the second. 'You must be confused….'_

 _Before I could say more, he started to shake his head vehemently, his response almost un-intelligent by laughter._

 _'Don't you think I remember my own son?' His voice was hoarse and deep, enhanced by the wine. 'You think I don't remember the day I sent you away to the crusades? The very same day you murdered your flesh and blood?' His voice had risen so much he was almost shouting at me. 'How dare you show your face before me? When you have ruined our family and estate?'_

 _He started towards me, his brow furrowed in anger and his fist raised as if to strike. As I backed away from him, I felt my mind racing to all possible conclusions to his delissions. What kind of reaction could this possibly be? What had transpired in his mind to concoct these thoughts and memories?_

 _'You must be wrong, father.. ' I said, trying again to find my voice. 'I'm not Robert. I'm Marian, your daughter! Don't you remember? Please say you reme…'_

 _Then I felt his hand making contact with my chin. My head felt like it had a thousand bells in it as it hit the stone floor. My vision turned black and my mind, already affected by the wine, exploded with a cascade of stars._

 _As if somebody else controlled my body, I felt myself standing up, slipping on invisible slipperiness on the floor before finding grip enough to run to the door and disappear out into the hallway, dark in the night, not yet lighted by the servants. My brothers name, 'Robert', was all that was in my head, as I ran and ran, not finding my way in the familiar hallways, forgotten were the memories of them, now just a labyrinth of turns and stairs._

 _'Robert, I'm Robert'_

 _'My name is Robert, Robert of Locksley'_

 _Hundreds, no, thousand of times, those words echoes in my head before I finally found the door to freedom and fresh cold air hit my face and I finally disappeared into the darkness of the forest._

 **I am Robert**


End file.
